


How Captain America Stole Christmas

by sc010f



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Needs a Hug, Establishing Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, M/M, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Pre-Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-27 03:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2677862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sc010f/pseuds/sc010f
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Superheroes are awesome, but sometimes they can be a little shortsighted. When Steve unintentionally cancels Clint's Christmas, and Tony intentionally takes over Clint's farm, Clint's only recourse is the Hulk. Clint and the Hulk both like ducks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Captain America Stole Christmas

_Thanksgiving Day_

It turns out that Clint is the only one of the Avengers who can handle the Hulk outside of a battle. Bruce and Clint don't get along very well, though; neither of them are able to speak to the other one without causing some kind of offense, or precipitating some sort of stand off. 

Nobody can decide if it's a problem or not. Clint doesn't really get along with _anyone_ except for Natasha when they're with him for long periods of time. Clint's fun for a night out, sure, but after about nine hours or so, people start to get tired of him. 

Clint thinks that maybe it wasn't like this, or it wouldn't have been like this before. But there's stuff that's missing from his head from Loki. When he tries to remember, there's just the icy blue and screaming. Natasha tells him that, yes, he's always been an asshole but not this much of one, and that's not really a help, actually. What's also not a help is that he wants to ask her about Phil, but he just can't.

Natasha doesn't bring it up either, so they don't say anything to anyone about the working relationship that they had with Phil. Clint because he honestly can't remember, and is afraid to ask, and Natasha because she's Natasha. 

Psych had been on him for months when Clint caves. He does know how to pretend to be sane. Loki had left him with _some_ of his skills at least, but he also knows that he'll be benched permanently if he doesn't seek help. It's also the impetus behind buying the farm: a good project to focus on when he's not Avenging shit or in therapy. Managing even a small farm takes a lot of energy, and Clint can count on going to sleep without drugs when he's been taking care of his chickens. Javier (who runs the place when Clint isn't around) lets Clint do all kinds of menial work so that he can burn off all the excess energy. Guilt. Whatever. Being too exhausted to dream is a big plus. 

Chickens also don't take offense at the stupid shit that comes out of Clint's mouth, and the ducks just swim in the pond and shit everywhere. Clint has a feeling that his relationship with his fowl is similar to his relationship with Phil: quiet and accepting (only without the shitting everywhere). 

Hulk likes ducks, too. Bruce doesn’t, but Hulk does. They discover this when the Avengers (because somebody – Pepper, probably – insisted that it would be a good team building for them to get together for a major holiday) come out to the farm for Thanksgiving, and Bruce accidentally Hulks out during argument between Steve and Tony over The Winter Soldier. Steve loses his temper and hurls an axe into the doorpost, missing Bruce by an inch (he'd come to call them to dinner). The Hulk shows up and destroys most of the porch. Instead of pulling out the special tranquilizers and knocking him sideways, Clint pulls him, big finger in hand, away from the ruins of the front of his house and takes him to look at the duck pond. 

"DUCK," proclaims Hulk. 

"Yeah, buddy. Duck."

When Bruce comes around he looks confusedly at Clint and scratches the back of his neck. 

"Pants?" he asks.

"Oh, yeah, here." Clint hands him a pair of sweatpants and Bruce pulls them on. 

"Thanks," Bruce says a bit coldly and Clint just grunts. The Hulk tends to pass out when he's ready to change back into Bruce and Clint's been catching up on emails while he waits for the transition to happen; it seems rude just to let Bruce wake up naked and next to a duck pond. Right now, Clint isn't really interested in the fact that Bruce is feeling unloved because right now Clint has gotten an email from Phil and he is not in the mood to deal with moody scientists:

_To: Clint Barton  
Re: Psych Hours_

_Barton: Maria briefed me on your status, and I regret to inform you that S.H.I.E.L.D. will not be able to cover the hours you billed us for the psychological counseling you have received in the last year. Your C.O.B.R.A. expired eighteen months ago._

_Please consider sending the bill to Stark Industries as I hear they have an excellent mental health coverage in their benefits package. They have also been your current employers for months. You should return the open enrollment forms to Pepper._

_You should also consider your 401(k) retirement plan defunct._

_Sincerely,_

_P. Coulson_

_PS – Pepper has also contacted me regarding having a gathering at Christmas. I am sorry to say that the team and I will not be attending. It's probably better that way, Clint._

"Motherfucker," Clint grunts and throws his phone into the pond where it skips seventeen times: a new personal record. Neither the ducks nor Bruce are impressed.

* * *

_The Days After Thanksgiving_

Paranoia seems like a good idea, all things considered. The holidays are approaching with grim determination, and Tony and Steve both seem hell-bent on making it a season of good will towards men no matter what anybody else thinks. Both of them go over the top in their own special ways: the Captain America Holiday Charity Telethon with Special Guests The Avengers (and Friends) is an excellent example. Steve was sufficiently horrified by Tony's brand of holiday masochism that he used his incredible resources and influence to rent CBS for twelve hours to broadcast the telethon on Black Friday.

The ratings are through the roof for the much-publicized handshake between Steve and all the members of U2 after a six-month kerfuffle in which Bono had heavily implied that Captain America really represented American capitalism and imperialism. The argument that ensued between Adam Clayton and Tony (really a dick measuring contest, but you can't show that on television) could have proved the downfall of the special, but liberal amounts of alcohol are supplied backstage as a lubricant. Thor also makes a timely appearance and challenges The Edge to an arm wrestling contest and the incident is smoothed over. 

Clint, Natasha, and Bruce are not as impressed as America is. 

And then there is The Pledge. 

The climax (or nadir) of the Captain America Holiday Charity Telethon with Special Guests The Avengers (and Friends) is The Pledge that Steve made them all commit to on live television, in front of God everybody, not to give physical gifts this holiday season but to instead donate the money to charity in the recipient's name. 

Clint knows it's petty and greedy and stupid to want to give and get physical gifts at Christmas, but he can't help it. There were only two things Clint liked about Christmas: Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown (because if you didn't like that you were a Communist, Natasha), and presents. If you asked a psychologist – and Clint hadn't asked plenty, _per se_ , but he'd had enough behave as if he had asked them – it was because he'd spent so many years with nothing that having something meant more than the actual gift itself. 

Phil had always made sure Clint had received something at Christmas, even if it was a set of purple pencils with little bows and arrows on them or a pair of boot socks. Clint had been thrilled to reciprocate: at first it had been knock-off designer belts and current Captain America comics (Clint preferred the David Aja editions), and as their relationship had become more stable and Clint's position at S.H.I.E.L.D more secure and his income had risen, actual designer belts, ties, and vintage Captain America comics in varying conditions and of varying degrees of rarity. At the beginning of their relationship, Clint had gifted him with a "genuine" Patek Philipe watch. Phil had accepted the present with grace and even worn it around S.H.I.E.L.D. Terrorists had destroyed it that April, but several Christmases later, Clint was able to give him the real thing. 

According to the footage from the Helicarrier, Phil had been wearing it when he died. Bastard. Clint hadn't needed to see that.

Last year, the year the Avengers had actually managed to come together as a team, two years after _everything_ , Clint had, as a result of all kinds of fucked up psychological reasons, gone whole hog when it came to gifts and presents for the team as well as S.H.I.E.L.D. It had made Christmas day, in particular, a bit awkward and hadn't made Clint feel any better.

Anyway, it isn't that Clint's planning that sort of a stunt again, not really. Maybe gifts for the team, a sort of "thank you for not killing me when you probably should have", but nothing too big or fancy. He doesn't have the budget (investing in a farm is surprisingly pricey), for one, and for two, after the whole HYDRA/Winter Soldier fiasco, he is more interested in sending anti-presents to various people: Ward, for one. Fury for pulling that little dying-but-not-really stunt. Anti-presents being things like poisoned arrows to the throat or at least itching powder in a certain ex-director's eye patch. He also wants to get Phil something like a punch in the eye.

But he still wants to get people presents. Natasha, at least, because she thinks love is for children, and therefore it follows that presents and Christmas are for children, too. Bruce, too, because he's been really edgy lately, and Clint feels bad about that. Steve's been drifting around the Tower looking like a lost and determined puppy, when he's not disappearing into the wilds of America looking for Bucky with Sam floating around behind him. Okay, he's definitely got to get Sam something, for keeping Steve from flying apart this year. Thor, if he's around, because Thor is awesome and sad and even if you're sad at Christmas or whatever midwinter holiday you celebrate, presents are important. Especially if you're sad.

Clint understands sad, and just because nobody can stand him for long periods of time doesn't mean he doesn't know how they feel. For example, he and Natasha may still not be talking about Phil, but Clint's starting to remember stuff and it's not pretty. S.H.I.E.L.D isn't footing the bill for his psych hours anymore (obviously), and he can't bring himself to ask Tony. He still sends Phil bills for the psych hours, anyway. Would serve him right for blowing Clint off like that: there's a difference between being fuck buddies and in a mutually agreed upon monogamous relationship, thank you very much. Clint knows that. He's got the divorce papers from Bobbi to prove it. 

Phil sends the bills back with post-it notes that say "No, I'm sorry, but no" and "I'm sorry, Clint but I fly coach now" attached to them. They're not even purple, and Clint considers making a run to an office supply store and buying Phil a stack of purple ones for Christmas, but according to Steve, that's against the damn rules. 

It really stings because Clint usually starts shopping in September. He's learned that in his life, with alien invasions and brainwashed best friends, and everything else, a good three- to four-month window is important. However, this year, he was a little distracted and had planned on having all of November. He's an Avenger, he can Get Shit Done. So, of course it's kind of devastating when Steve makes him sign that ridiculous Pledge Against the Commercialism of Christmas. 

Tony, needless to say, spends most of his time following the telethon holed up with his lawyers, trying to find a way out the Pledge. They come up short –White Elephant gifts are not considered an acceptable loophole (Clint suspects that Steve got to the lawyers first) and no, re-gifting is not acceptable, either. 

Steve doesn't fight the idea of a dinner party, though. At least a dinner party as outlined by Pepper: quiet, intimate, and at Clint's farm.

* * *

Before Thanksgiving, Clint had let Natasha persuade him to come back to the Tower. It's not safe for him to be anywhere else, really, what with HYDRA and The Winter Soldier on the loose. He's got a huge-ass target on his back right now, and what remains of S.H.I.E.L.D personnel who can tolerate him (Maria Hill and Natasha) are based out of the Tower, so he's pretty much stuck right now. 

It sucks. 

After the duck incident, Bruce avoids him. Besides, everything Clint likes, Bruce seems to think is indicative of a degenerate class of people who like to watch MMA (Clint likes watching people who don't know any better get the shit kicked out of them, and it's always a fallback career, okay?). So that just leaves Natasha and the Hulk who still tolerate him. Clint knows he's probably being paranoid, but what the hell.

Clint doesn't email Phil back, but Phil emails him. Stiffly worded emails asking questions about old missions and old teams, stuff he could have easily looked up. He's the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., right?

Each email ends with another apology about not attending Christmas parties thrown by Tony. Clint isn't impressed. He remembers being good at reading between the lines of Phil's communiqués once, but these apologies reek of Phil Coulson brand bullshit. 

Clint's a master bullshitter. He recognizes it when he sees it. He's also not going to address the suspicion that the bullshit regarding apologies for declined invitations is actually some kind of round about way of apologizing to _him_. That would be narcissism, and there is a difference between narcissism (which Clint does not have) and paranoia (which Clint has in spades). 

"Just… try and play nice," Natasha tells him. "I should not be the most functional person in this Tower and nobody needs to see you tying yourself in knots over Coulson.

"I thought we weren't talking about that," Clint snaps back.

* * *

Tony announces at breakfast one afternoon (Avengers keep odd hours, what?) that he's definitely having "Agent, Scary Melinda May, and the kids over for Christmas dinner" and that Clint is even more pissed off.

"That's a great idea," Steve immediately says. 

"The kids?" Bruce asks.

Natasha kicks Clint under the table and Clint glares at her from his eggs. 

"Watch out," she mouths at him. 

Clint grunts. 

"I'm not going to start any fights, I _promise_ ," he mutters at her.

Natasha rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, Bobbi Morse, Fitz, all those guys that are hanging around Coulson's super secret lair, fighting for truth, justice, and America," Tony says.

"It would be nice to give Phil a break," Pepper adds. "He's been hiding behind S.H.I.E.L.D. lately." Tony chokes on his bacon but doesn’t say anything, and Pepper pats him distractedly on the back. "It's not good for him. We had coffee last week and he's looking stressed."

"That sucks," Clint says. "Dinner with us isn't exactly a fucking walk in the park, Pepper."

A chorus of "how could yous" and "don't be such a spoilsport, Bartons" rises from the table and Clint grits his teeth. 

"Well, you know, it's not a bad idea," Natasha says, the traitor. "It has been a while since we've all seen Phil."

"You'll love Morse, Steve," Hill adds. "And isn't it time you and she buried the hatchet?" she asks Clint by way of rubbing salt into the already festering lesions of Clint's emotional psyche. 

"Fuck you, Hill," Clint snaps. "I got my ducks."

"Now, Clint," Steve says. "It won't be Christmas unless you're with us. I mean, I don't want to make it an order or anything, but I know how important Christmas is to you, and since we're not doing the gifting thing, this will be a nice way of celebrating."

Clint glares at the remains of his breakfast. 

"Fuck you, Steve," he mutters, then louder, "Fine. I'll attend your stupid Christmas that doesn't have presents, but you can't make me talk to Coulson _or_ Bobbi, or anybody, if I don't want to."

Natasha looks like she wants to push the issue: make Clint promise to be nice or something, but she doesn't say anything. Everyone else looks at him like he's grown a second head, and Clint sighs. 

"Fine. We'll use the farm," he says.

"It'll be a _perfect_ Christmas!" Tony exclaims as Clint slams out of the room, and Clint would be willing to bet that he wasn't being sarcastic.

Clint gets another email that day:

_It appears I was incorrect. We will be joining you for Christmas. Pepper can be very persuasive._

Clint doesn't reply.

* * *

_Three Weeks Before Christmas_

"So, um, Big Guy, what's up?" Clint finds himself talking to a confused Hulk as they're sitting in the common room of the Tower. He and Bruce had been politely watching a nature documentary together, and during the commercial break, a shorter version of Steve's "sign the pledge, gift to charity" spot had come on, immediately followed by an epilepsy-inducing advertisement for the latest Avengers video game and all of a sudden, Clint finds himself sharing a sofa with the Hulk. 

"Ducks," said Hulk.

"Yep, I'm the dude with the ducks," Clint agrees. Hulk says this every time he sees Clint, now.

"Arrows. Hawkeye." Hulk is usually like this when he accidentally shows up – once Bruce stubbed his bare toe hard on the edge of a coffee table and Hulked out, so it's not unheard of for him to appear by accident. It usually takes Hulk a few minutes to acclimate when it's not an emergency situation. 

"You don't like the TV?" Clint asks. 

"Bruce like fish. Bruce not like flashy things."

"Flashy… Oh, the commercials?"

Hulk grunts. It seems to be an assent.

"Any chance of Bruce coming back?" Clint asks cautiously.

Hulk grunts again and shifts among the ruins of the couch. Clint picks up a wad of stuffing and begins to pluck at it, waiting patiently; he does have super Hulk wrangling skills after all. 

"Fluffy," says Hulk poking a huge forefinger at the wad of padding. 

"Yeah, I guess it is," Clint agrees. 

"Fluffy!" Hulk says again, plucking a huge piece of padding from the couch. "Snow."

The idea hits Clint with so much force that he feels faint. 

"JARVIS?" he asks. "Is there any construction paper in the Tower?"

The thing is, Clint's not dumb and he's not just good at shooting shit. Before the circus, before Trick and The World's Greatest Marksman, Clint was really good at art. Not Steve-level, obviously, but on those sporadic occasions when he went to school, art had always been Clint's favorite thing. He could make owls out of construction paper like a badass, paper-bag turkeys at Thanksgiving, tissue paper ghosts – that kind of shit. In fact, Clint is a fucking master at arts-and-crafts. It was also useful in the group homes with the little kids and in the circus when kids got separated from their parents. He's just never bothered to tell anyone this because, really, being kickass at elementary school art projects and able to make a fucking amazing snowman out of cotton balls and glue and construction paper in under ten minutes isn’t a skill that can save the world. 

But it's really something Clint knows he probably shouldn't be proud of, but in this case, fuck it, he and the Hulk are making motherfucking snowmen out of couch cushion padding and construction paper and glue. 

Hulk's snowman (and Clint's) get pinned onto the wall by the refrigerator in Clint's apartment, mostly because the fancy-ass fridge Tony put in his place is made of non-ferrous metal and you can't stick magnets on it (what the fuck, Tony) and also because the Hulk snowman is so big that Clint wouldn’t be able to open the freezer. 

Clint likes it. It makes him smile when he's groping for coffee in the morning, and he'll shoot anyone who dares make fun of it. He tells Steve and Bucky this the first time Steve brings Bucky to the Tower to introduce him to the team and get him acclimatized to being a normal (or what passes for normal around here) person. It turns out to be exactly the wrong thing to say and Clint winds up in a boot for six weeks and Tony grumbling in his ear about paying for the damage a crazy brainwashed ninety-year-old assassin causes.

Phil emails him to ask if he would like Simmons to come over to look it it since of course Clint sent him the medical bill.

* * *

_Later That Same Week_

This Christmas, the villains of the world take advantage of the increased levels of insanity that the looming holiday season brings upon mankind, and Clint (in his boot) is relegated to "staying the fuck off the broken foot, Goddamn it, Barton" and just shooting things from a smashed office building. It's boring as hell, and it puts him more or less permanently on Hulk-calming duty when Natasha herds him over to Clint.

"Hulk craft?" is what Clint gets asked the first time. And, since they're short of cotton balls and construction paper, but long on twisted cables, an awkwardly lumpy Hulk-sized macramé bracelet appears: big enough to be slung around Natasha's shoulders when she comes upon them putting the finishing knots into it. The blue, red, and green Ethernet cables make a surprisingly tasteful display.

Hulk actually smiles a real smile, not the menacing baring of teeth that he usually does. 

"Hulk wanted beads, but Clint say too much is tacky," he offers. "Macramé, not charm bracelet." 

"Don't say a fucking word," Clint warns her. "He wanted to use desk lamps and staplers as charms."

"Count on it," Natasha says, staggering under the weight of the bracelet, a funny look in her eye.

"Tasha," Clint shouts after her. "What the fuck?" He hobbles down the hallway, but Natasha manages to slip away.

"Barton," Bruce asks him from behind. "Do you have my pants? It's kind of cold here. And why am I surrounded by three-hole punches?"

* * *

_Still Three Weeks Until Christmas_

Clint isn't sure why the city saved all the Astroturf from the Meadowlands Arena behind the Metlife Stadium in the first place, but it makes a nice landing spot when he slides down Hulk's back from the top of the MetLife Stadium. Robot drones destroyed, he and Hulk sit in the huge pile of hideous green until Hulk starts to get antsy. 

"Here, let me show you something," Clint says and pulls out a can of white spray paint. "Put your hand down."

They spend a good hour tracing Hulk hands with spray paint until Tony shows up and offers to cut them out for them. 

"What we do with hands?" Hulk asks. 

"We… make a wreath?" Clint says after a minute. 

"Awesome," says Hulk. "Bruce think it stupid. Bruce stupid."

"I'm keeping it," Tony says when they're done. "This is a gift beyond price, if you ask me."

"What did he do now?" Bruce asks.

"A wreath!" Tony crows. "You're pretty kickass at this. You should totally set up an Etsy account."

"Barton, pants?" Bruce asks. "And we are never, _ever_ discussing this."

* * *

_Two Weeks Before Christmas_

Thor helps Clint and Hulk melt what amounts to an extra-large Shrinky-Dink key ring from the remains of playground structures and subway car seats. It's an ugly reddish brown and stinks beyond measure, but it is successfully shaped like a car (or a very unfortunate camel if you turn it the wrong way).

"The children of Asgard make similar trinkets from gold and other metals," Thor says when they're done. He looks sadly at the key ring, the size of a small cat, cooling on the sidewalk and sighs. 

"Thor not like it?" Hulk asks.

"Nay, my friend," Thor replies, patting Hulk on his knee. "It is a gift from the heart. It makes it worth more than all the gold in Asgard or Midgard."

"Yeah," Clint says. "You did good, big guy."

Clint is beginning to wonder, though, why everyone (including Bruce) is referring to these stupid things as "gifts."

* * *

_Eight Days Before Christmas_

Christmas is getting closer and Tony hasn't said anything more about the party, but Clint wasn't born yesterday and he just _knows_ that there's something in the works. Why they have to use his farm is beyond him, and he says as much to the ducks the weekend before when he goes up to check on them and collaborate with Javier on their care and feeding.

Javier shrugs and tells him that the landscape guys keep getting treed by the swans that live in the pond year-round because of course Clint can't keep animals that migrate like normal critters do. Clint tells Javier that he hasn't hired any landscape guys to put twinkly lights in his trees, and Javier shrugs again. Clint does a sweep of his property after that (somewhat inefficiently – being a boot really slows him down and no he's not going to stop bitching about that), but doesn't find anything but twinkly lights in the trees and wreaths of actual pine.

He takes pictures with his phone and doesn't send them to Phil. That would be stupid and sentimental even though Phil sent him a picture of the wreath Skye and Simmons put up in the lab attached to his latest request for information.

Meanwhile, the latest Hulk-related project is a picture frame for Steve (and Bucky) out of a dinged-up satellite dish and broken pieces of plastic from car headlights and a metric fuckton of red, white, and blue paint. It contains a poster-sized picture of Steve and Bucky, mugging for the camera – a selfie, in fact, with Bucky holding the camera at arm’s length with a shit-eating grin on his face. Steve has his hand splayed out on Bucky's chest and is looking at him like he hangs the moon. It's an awesome picture, Clint thinks, and he's glad he convinced the Stark Industries marketing people to make it poster sized because it's also a memento of one of the last good days Bucky has for a while.

* * *

_Five Days Before Christmas_

Bucky's relapse brings Sam back to the Tower where Clint and the Hulk are smearing pinecones with peanut butter to make squirrel feeders for the farm. Sam gets involved, and Clint treasures Tony's look of absolute horror at the peanut butter holocaust that his media room has become. 

There's also glitter – actual glitter, not pieces of broken car this time – and a small lake of glue and an enormous nest of copper cabling. 

Hulk insists on Christmas music and JARVIS obliges. 

It's the best damn thing that's happened since before Phil left, died, whatever, and Clint makes sure to bring some of the pinecones to the farm. Javier has his guys hang them in the trees. They look awesome. 

He sends Phil a picture.

 

_Christmas Day_

The Avengers manage to straggle up to Clint's farm, which now looks like Thomas Kinkade and Martha Stewart went on an epic hate-sex fueled bender together. Clint really regrets agreeing to this.

The problem is that it's not just him and his damn ducks and that it could totally turn into Thanksgiving again. The problem is that Phil and _his_ team actually show up and it really does look like it's Phil and Melinda and the kids, and naturally that includes Clint's ex-wife and a bunch of other people with whom Clint's worked and who probably hate him. 

Phil just makes everything worse by looking happy with May on his arm. And okay, maybe Clint is an asshole for hating him for that, but where does he get off looking like that _and_ having all these awesome people around him including Bobbi who Clint is definitely over, but still, of all the relationships he's fucked up in his lifetime, Clint really regrets fucking that one up. 

There's a monstrous live Christmas tree in the living room where everyone inevitably ends up gathering after they've eaten way more than they should have thanks to Pepper's ninja-caterers. No, seriously, Clint hasn't gotten around to fixing the kitchen after Thanksgiving and he's not convinced that the oven works. Apparently they manage to make it work because Clint is certain that's the best roast beef he's ever eaten in his life and thanks to Phil, he's scored dinner at a lot of very nice restaurants over the years. 

That is, when he and Phil were… whatever they were. More than just email correspondents. 

Damn it. 

There's a lot of very nice red wine, and Clint snags himself another bottle when Tony dings his glass and demands silence.

"Assembled Avengers!" he announces. "And honored guests," he adds with a bow to the S.H.I.E.L.D. contingent. "We are gathered here on the Christmas Day to celebrate the miracle of… interagency cooperation, and since this is the season of miracles and shit..."

Clint can't do this anymore. He vaults over the back of the couch, bottle in his hand and flounces out to the duck pond. Of course he regrets it immediately when the chill seeps through his jeans.

He cannot believe his shitty luck when Bobbi finds him first. 

He cannot believe his shitty luck that Bobbi went looking for him and not Natasha. At least Natasha would have had the sense not to say anything. 

"You done feeling sorry for yourself, yet?" Bobbi asks. Clint kind of wants to punch her. Yeah, Clint remembers why they always got along so famously. 

It's cold on the stump by the duck pond. Bobbi shoves at him until he's perched on the edge, making room for herself. 

Clint doesn’t say anything, and Bobbi slaps him upside the head. Behind them, Clint knows the house is warm and loud and light, but honestly, he just wants to be cold and on his stump and staring at his duck pond. 

"Barton?" Tony's voice carries from the porch. "Come on, stop being Charlie Brown. We're opening presents."

:Look," Bobbi says. "I just came to get your sorry ass. Tony said you'd be all nonverbal and to leave you alone, but he's an idiot." Bobbi pauses. "I know you're not good at Phil stuff, but he misses you. You two were always better with each other." 

"Bobbi," Clint starts. "Goddamn it, Bobbi, why do you gotta go start saving me all the damn time? You and Nat you know what? Fuck this. Get off my property, all of you. You all think we can play nice together and have fucking Christmas like the old days, which didn’t ever happen anyway, and pretend that it's all just fucking wonderful. It fucking _sucks_." 

Bobbi snarls and pushes him off his stump and into the half frozen mud.

"Fine," she says. "Merry Christmas to you, too. Jerkwad."

He's managed to pull himself out the mud (and isn’t that just a metaphor for everything) and is sitting, pretending he's not shivering and drunk and sulking, when Phil finds him. Clint pretends he doesn't see him, and he almost gets away with it, except Phil is wearing…

"Is that Natasha's Hulk macramé?" he asks Phil. 

"Yeah." Clint can tell, even in the the low light, that Phil is blushing. "Natasha, Steve, Bucky, Tony, Thor, Sam, they all gave me Christmas presents from Hulk. Bruce is mortified, but he said to say 'thank you', and I guess… I should say thank you, too."

Phil shifts the bracelet around his shoulder uncomfortably. 

"They told me about what you did with Hulk. That was really… ingenious, actually. Arts and crafts. You were always... I mean, you are good at that. It's a good thing, Clint."

Clint thinks he should be saying something or feeling something, but right now, he can't seem to do anything but feel twitchy. Maybe it's the cold, or maybe it's the wine. Inside he's screaming, _Shut up, shut up, shut up_ and it's way more like what it was like with Loki than he really wants it to be and…

"And of course," Phil doesn't shut up. "It's Christmas." Phil's hand, warm and heavy falls on Clint's shoulder, and Clint definitely does _not_ lean into the touch because he's not going to admit that the feeling of Phil's warmth leaching into him is quieting the twitchy, screaming chaos that is his brain. "I saw you on Steve's special on TV, and I missed you."

Clint turns slightly, and fuck it, he _is_ leaning into Phil's touch, and his cheek rests on something cool. 

Phil's watch. The watch _he_ gave to Phil for Christmas the year before Phil fucking _died_.

"I remember how you felt about presents," Phil says. "It was important. It is important to you. You have to know, Clint, I didn't ignore you because I blamed you for what happened. There were gaps in my memory. You… you were one of them. I think Fury saw our relationship as a weak point. We've hashed that one out. I told him he was an idiot. You were never a weak point, Clint. Not to me."

Clint gulps. He is so not going to cry. Not out here, not in front of Phil who is wearing the junk that he and Hulk and Natasha made, which…

"Was that the plan?" he asks.

"Hmm? Plan? My understanding was that nobody was exchanging presents," Phil replies. "But Stark seized the moment, I suppose. He said that it went a way to thank me for my… sacrifice. And to thank me for S.H.I.E.L.D. It was… embarrassing, to say the least. I think Melinda's going to break his neck."

"Jesus. Really?" Clint feels like he's going to throw up. He's never drinking wine again. "Fuck. Look, Phil, I didn't make them, or help Hulk make them for you," Clint says. "I mean, it's great, it's a great idea and you're more than welcome to that shit, because if anyone deserves a Christmas present, it's you, but nah, Phil, I was just doing it to keep Hulk happy. I mean, that's all old shit we found lying around wherever Hulk happened to be. It didn't fucking mean anything."

Great, once again, he's fucked up. God, why couldn't he have just let Phil think they were presents for him and let it go? Especially after Phil just fucking spilled his guts to him. Not a weak point, Clint's ass. 

Before Phil can say anything though, Clint begins to blurt again.

"God, I'm an idiot. I'm sorry. Look, no, I didn't know there was some kind of conspiracy to get you presents. Or to make them for you. I was just. Aw, fuck. Now I've gone and. Look, Phil, I'm sorry. I fucked up. I mean, it's theirs to do what they want with and if they want to give shitty Hulk made crafts to you as, fuck, I don't know, what to tell you."

"They weren't your presents?" Phil asks, and there's a warmth in his voice as Clint, despite himself, leans into him. "Well, that's all right."

"Phil, don't…" Clint doesn't whine. He really doesn't, but it's still too much, it was too much when Steve cancelled Christmas, it was too much when Tony and Pepper bullied him into having Christmas here, it was much too much when they invited Phil and his team and filled Clint's house with people he'd fucked over, and now it is definitely too much. 

If this is some sort of psychotic break, Clint thinks somewhat hysterically as everything just _crumbles_ and he melts into Phil sobbing, God _damn_ it, it's certainly a safe place to do it. Because the only person on this earth that Clint can think of as safe is Phil fucking Coulson, who is motherfucking alive and holding him and carding his fingers, rough and warm, through Clint's hair. 

"If it helps," Phil says. "I got you something."

"Phil," Clint says with a loud, undignified, and frankly disgusting snuffle.

Clint is definitely drunk. It's probably a good thing because he's wrapped himself around Phil and Phil smells nice and is warm and his skin is soft and Phil turns and leans his forehead against Clint's. 

"I'm so sorry I forgot," Phil whispers. "Every email I wrote, it seemed like there was something else I was supposed to be saying something else, but it was as if my fingers would get stiff and swollen and all I could write was bureaucratic gobbledygook. There's so much missing, Clint, and I hate it. I don't want you to be part of what's missing, okay?"

Clint can't say anything.

"Clint. Please. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Clint takes a breath.

Whatever it was that Clint was going to say, and fuck if he knew, it was probably going to be something mortifying like _I miss you_ , or _my therapist used to think I'm in love with you because I feel like you never gave up on me until you did, but maybe you didn't and I don't know because I forgot stuff too, and maybe we can make new memories together, isn't that fucking cheesy_ when there's an unholy crashing from inside the house and the Hulk breaks through the side wall, sending chunks of siding, brick, and Christmas flying.

"DUCK!" Hulk shouts and lumbers to them. He plops himself down next to Phil (who is picking himself up somewhat gingerly from the mud into which he'd dived for cover) and Clint and points to the pond. "Ducks not piss off Bruce like crowds. Ducks not attack Bruce like Fucky."

Sure enough, Steve and Bucky come tumbling out of the hole in Clint's living room, wrapped around each other in what is probably combat but Clint thinks is probably going to wind up in lots of comfort-sex later. 

"Did Tony tell Hulk to call Barnes that?" Phil asks Clint.

Clint starts to laugh. Or cry, he's not sure which.

"Who do you think?" he asks.

"Hulk like Phil's present," Hulk says as Bucky springs up from the ruins of Clint's porch to the roof as the rest of the Avengers (and friends) come pouring out of what used to be Clint's home. He pokes Phil with a giant green finger and Phil coughs.

"Aw, farmhouse," Clint groans. "No."

**Author's Note:**

> We can assume that Phil got Clint something AWESOME.
> 
> My apologies to John Finnemore for co-opting the "genuine Patek Philipe" line. 
> 
> My thanks to Mara, PJ, Lea, and Libby for their unflagging enthusiasm for getting this story done: especially to PJ and Libby for taking the idea and making me run with it.


End file.
